Let me go
where’er I willI hear a sky-born music
still;It sounds from all things
old,It sounds from all things
young,From all that’s fair, from all
that’s foul,Peals out a cheerful
song.

It is not only in
the rose,
It is not only in the bird,
Not only when the rainbow glows,
Nor in the song of woman heard,
But in the darkest, meanest things
There alway, alway, something sings.

‘Tis not in the
high stars alone,Nor in the cup of budding
flowers,Nor in the redbreast’s mellow
tones,Nor in the bow that smiles in
showers,But in the mud and scum of
thingsThere alway, alway, something
sings.